


Bard

by Kamato



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bards College, Civil War, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Forsworn, M/M, Multi, Other, Probably going to get dark later on, Winter, like it always does
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamato/pseuds/Kamato
Summary: The bard Beidir and her best friend, Aleskim, have been hired to perform for the Dragonborn while she is working in Markarth, but the Reach is anything but hospitable, and trouble befalls them along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

Wandering about the icy streets of Solitude after dark, Beidir muttered a popular song. “Our hero claims a warrior’s heart,” as she stepped past the cobbled street that led to the Blue Palace. The whole of Solitude had cobbled streets, but much of them were loose and worn. Conversely, the cobbled street adjacent and leading to the Blue Palace almost seemed to be polished daily, they stayed in such good shape. “I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes,” as a gust of wind blew through, sending snow spiralling up out of the banks on either side of the snow and prompting Beidir to tighten the furs wrapped around her. She nodded and smiled at a well equipped guard as she started towards the Bard’s College. “With the Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.” Hastened strides carried her into the courtyard out front of the College. “I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.”

By the entrance to the College, a Redguard man wrapped in half again as many furs as Beidir had been puffing on a pipe, his breaths appearing to come out smoke even when he hadn’t just puffed. “What’re you singing there, Beidir?” His voice came out deep, smooth. Beidir had said it sounded like caramel. 

“Some old Nord song,” she told him, leaning against a pillar a few feet away from him, and tugging down her balaclava so that her voice didn’t come out muffled. “Why’re you out here, Aleskim? Had that much of a desire for a bit of pipeweed?”

“Nah. Had that much of a desire to get away from Wicha and Haldir's damned tuning. Can’t say that I’ve ever heard something worse than two flute players tuning something in their upper register.” A quiet chuckle created a puff of mist in front of his face before he took his pipe back into his mouth and silence filled the space between them once more. After a few seconds, he asked, “Aren’t you going to pull up your balaclava again? I mean, it’d be a shame if you lost feeling in your lips for having frozen them.”

Beidir shrugged and waited for the silence to grow a moment before speaking. “Are you worried at all?”

“About what?”

“The trip. We’re leaving tomorrow, you know.”

He chuffed. “I know, I know. Can’t say I’m happy about it, but worried? No. Sun’s Dawn sure crept up on me, though. Besides, it’s been getting warmer. Probably won’t even have to break out the snowshoes. And isn’t the pay worth a little jaunt through the Reach?”

Beidir sighed, watching her fur packed shoes. “Sure, sure. And it’s nice to be doing something other than studying the great masters or whatever Gemane would have us do next. Can’t say I’m not nervous, though.”

“Pft. Should be me that’s nervous but I’m not. You’re miles ahead of me, Beidir.”

“And you’re a damned flatterer.” Still, Beidir smiled at him, and he grinned back as he puffed his pipe, though the darkness made it a little difficult to see either gesture. “Come on. Let’s get inside before your nose turns black and falls off.”

“So you’d regret it if something were to happen to me?” he asked, standing up and snuffing out his pipe.

“Only because I’d catch the windfall for it. Now come on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The sarcasm in his voice was palpable. Beidir resisted the urge to punch him for it and led the way inside.

*****

As she packed equipment for the journey, Beidir felt the weight of the axe on her belt more heavily than perhaps she should have. It always felt odd to count something out of the ordinary amongst your equipment, but the bearded axe hanging from the leather thong on her belt felt different. Someone stepped into the doorframe of her room, and she turned around, finding a short man with swarthy skin and a nice, fur brimmed hat on his head waiting for her. 

“Beidir,” Giraud Gemane said, “remember not to talk too much in Markarth. If you think Solitude’s corrupt, then just wait until you see what goes on there, but I urge you again, don’t talk too much.” 

Beidir lifted a hand, stopping him, and sat down on her bed. “I’m a bard, Gemane. Not a detective. There are other people who can do that work. The only thing I’m really worried about is the Dragonborn.”

To her chagrin, Giraud chuckled. “What, will she Shout at you if you miss a note, is that it?”

“No. I’m worried I may offend her with our choice of music. None of it’s political, but that in itself is a risk, as she may be expecting something that supports her views, but then-”

“Take a breath, Beidir,” Giraud said, his words interspersed with laughs. Beidir stopped panicking, at least, the emotion being replaced with irritation at his lack of respect for her fears. “The worst she can do is stiff you on the tip.”

“This is important, Gemane. If I play my cards right, then this will be my opportunity to become one of the few bards in Tamriel who lives comfortably. Who knows when I will have this kind of an opportunity again?” She lifted a thick, heavy tome into her pack, shifting aside a couple of glass phials to make room. “I’ve practiced this performance for two hundred and fifty hours, and it’s only fifty minutes’ worth of music. And I plan to get another ten hours of practice in while on the road, so it ought to be just about perfect, but something could go wrong. I could get sick, lose my voice. A Forsworn attack could shatter my lute.”

Giraud lifted his hand this time to stop her, his jovial expression gone. “You have a lot to worry about, I get it. But you need to be careful not to overwork yourself, or you might simply have a nervous breakdown in front of the Dragonborn, and lose your pay that way. So joke a little, drink a little, and don’t work every hour of the day. Still, though, keep your axe sharp. The Reach is as wild as Skyrim gets.” He nodded, as if affirming to himself that he was done speaking, turned around, and left the room. 

Beidir wore a heavy overcoat made from horker skin, a bit of leather, and a bear pelt beneath her knapsack as she slung it over her shoulders and made her way out to the streets of Solitude. When she stepped outside, little flecks of snow dotted her face amongst the sparse freckles there, her cheeks and nose slowly turning a ruddy red in the cold. During the morning, soldiers and civilians marched up and down the streets of Solitude in almost equal number. The former carried bows, spears, and the standard three foot short swords that the Empire used, and the latter carried wicker baskets full of dried meat and fruit, bolts of cloth, and she spotted a couple of men she recognized as helpers for the Imperial forge in Solitude carrying a crate full of iron ingots between them. 

As she saw Aleskim hurry after her out of the entrance to the College, she tugged down her balaclava and grinned, lifting a gloved hand in his direction. “Aleskim! I’m here!”

He looked up, nodded, and hastened over to her, wrapped in enough furs to look about fifty pounds heavier than he actually was. He didn’t lower his own balaclava, which muffled his caramel voice. “You know,” he said as he approached, “every morning before I step outside, I think that I’m finally used to how cold Solitude is, and every morning, I’m shocked and have to go back inside for some extra furs. Giraud Gemane says I’m one of his more intelligent students, so do I never learn?”

“Because you’re a twit,” Beidir assured him, and pulled her balaclava up over the lower half of her face. “Now, let’s get on to Dragon Bridge. Our guide is waiting for us.”

The Redguard nodded and started towards the gates, and Beidir watched the slim scimitar in its sheath sway on his hip. They were barely competent with their respective weapons, sure, but whenever Aleskim deigned to wear his weapon out and about, it brought a smile to Beidir’s face. She didn’t know why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As predicted, the journey gets complicated.

It occurred to Beidir as she stepped into the Four Shields Tavern in the village of Dragon Bridge how similar the inns and taverns were to each other in Skyrim. Most of them had a large hearth fire in the center of the common room, and at this time of year, they were usually blazing. Rooms for sleeping sat adjacent to the common room, and while some of the nicer ones had privies, cobbled floors, and second stories, the majority of them were simple structures with thatch roofs, like the Four Shields. 

Several people of the shortish Breton race stayed in the common room as they entered, eating and drinking at the tables along the edges of the room, but Beidir, as she pulled off her heavy fur cap and balaclava, looked for a specific one: a middle aged woman with some jagged, blue-grey tattoos up and down her left arm. 

“Where is she?” Aleskim asked his companion, not finding their guide at first glance.

“I don’t know - wait. Over there, in the corner.” She lifted a gloved hand, pointing into the corner farthest from them, on the opposite side of the room from the bar adjacent to them. The woman, who wore a thick cotton dress with sleeves, slit down to the wrist from the elbow. Beidir led the way over to her, taking off her overcoat and draping it over her arm, the blazing hearth fire making it almost unbearably hot to continue wearing it. As she stepped up behind the woman, she turned, and Beidir finally caught sight of the jagged, thick shapes making her skin there look equally tanned as blue-grey from the ink. 

The Breton woman’s wary eyes flicked between them. “You two the ones I’m taking through to Markarth?”

Beidir nodded. “You’re Frale, right?”

She opened her arms with a half smile. “The one and only. Well, probably the one and only. I don’t know everyone in the Reach and High Rock.” She let her arms slap back down to her sides, and she leaned her elbows against the table, slouching back against it from the bench. “So, when are we heading out?” She seemed a bit twitchy, and on occasion, Beidir noted her gnawing the excess skin from her lower lip. 

Beidir and Aleskim shared a look. Aleskim spoke up. “Today, then? We have another five hours of sunlight, at least.”

Beidir nodded and turned back to Frale. “Today. As soon as you’re ready to go.”

Frale shrugged. “Let me go grab my coat and things. Meet you out front?”

“Yeah.” As their guide made her way over to her room, Beidir and Aleskim brought themselves outside. “Our hero, our hero claims a warrior’s heart,” she murmured, and a deep throated chuckle bubbled out of Aleskim’s mouth. 

As he helped her don her overcoat again to keep away the biting cold, he asked, “How much have you practiced that one? I mean, it’s the only song you’re singing, but it’s the only thing I hear you say.”

“That is entirely untrue,” she told him, and tugged her balaclava over her mouth to hide her reaction to his goofy grin. “I’m speaking to you now, aren’t I? I haven’t been keeping track of exactly how long I practiced that one, though.” Even as she said this, she automatically reminded herself, forty nine hours. Since she started practicing and rehearsing “The Dragonborn Comes” she’d kept track of how long she did so, almost to the point of obsession. Still, some seed of embarrassment kept her from informing Aleskim of this. 

“If you say so, Beidir.” After a moment, he asked, “So, what do you make of Frale?”

“She’s just about what I expected her to be. Still got that look in her eyes that reminds me of a saber cat, but carries herself like a civilized woman. The dress fits her well. You’d almost never suspect that she used to be Forsworn.” A hint of admiration touched her voice. “What about you? What do you think of her?”

He shrugged, his massive overcoat making the motion almost imperceptible. “I think she’s probably an alright person, but I haven’t really gotten to know her, so I can’t make a judgement yet. Of course, I’m not nearly so perceptive as you are.”

She smirked, though he couldn’t see it past her balaclava. “Call it my feminine intuition.” As she said this, she heard the door open behind her, and turned around, finding the woman stepping outside, though now in a slimmer overcoat to Beidir’s, this one looking to be lined with goat fur. A belt cinched tight around her waist carried a steel handaxe, further marking her as someone who didn’t belong to the Forsworn. The staff she carried, though, looked ambiguous, the gnarled, almost black thing looking somewhat suspicious, though Beidir suspected that she might have only thought that because of her lack of positive experiences with mages. 

Beidir had only ever known two more than in passing, one being the abrasive court mage of Jarl Elisif’s and the other a pissy, cocky boy in the Winking Skeever who’d tried to seduce her with cheap parlor tricks. He’d tried every night for a week, and Beidir made a game out of seeing how many drinks she could get him to buy her. The total had been twenty two before he gave up.

Lost in her thoughts, Beidir didn’t notice Frale’s expectant look until the woman waved her free hand in a circle and said, “Shall we get on with it, then?” in a somewhat irritated tone. 

“Yes, of course,” Beidir said, and stepped to the side. “I was only waiting for you, as you actually know where to go once we are over the bridge.” 

“We’ll follow the road for a little ways,” Frale told her, striding past easily, despite her relatively diminutive stature, “but the Forsworn just absolutely love setting ambushes up for travellers on the road. There’s a place a few miles south of here that we can get to before nightfall, if we play our cards right. It ought to be a good place to sleep.”

“When was the last time you travelled the Reach?” Aleskim asked her as they stepped onto the cobbled stone surface of the bridge the village was named for. It stretched over a ravine in an arch, with a stone canopy in the middle meant to imitate the shape of a dragon’s skull. There was no adhesive in the stonework, Beidir found. The builders simply wedged the stone so tightly together that it held itself aloft. 

“Oh, two, three months ago? At the end of autumn, when the passes to Cyrodiil and High Rock tend to freeze. I’ve done this plenty of times, don’t you worry. Even if some of the camps have moved or a couple of the bridges are out, we’ll find ways around.” She grunted as she stepped up to the high point of the bridge. “We always do.”

Aleskim lagged behind with Beidir and said in a low voice, “Maybe, if that cave doesn’t turn out, then we’ll sleep in a pile to keep warm.” A quiet chuckle leaked from him. “Wouldn’t that be a sight?”

“Pft. If this is your excuse for flirting, then you should stop calling yourself a bard, Aleskim.” Despite her words, a little grin crept across her mouth at the image. 

“I am wounded.” This time, Beidir didn’t resist the urge to punch him in the arm for his sarcasm, though his furs kept it from being much felt. “Now, Beidir. If that is your excuse for a punch, then you should stop calling yourself a Nord.” They shared another little laugh, just a chuff of air, really. “No, but if I am flirting, you will know it, Beidir.”

“Yes, well, you’ve never really been one for subtlety in your stories and songs, anyway. Why should this be any different?”

“Exactly.” 

True to her word, Frale led them along the partially cobbled road that ran through the reach for around a quarter mile before she split off from it without a word, stepping through a little gap in the scrubby brush that lined the sides of the road. Their boots sank a half foot into the snow as they walked, but in the afternoon sun, Beidir found some of it melting. Their walk took them up onto a hill that overlooked some of the rocky crags that made up the majority of the Reach, and a cliff marked the edge of the hill, a river running along the bottom of it. They crossed a swaying bridge to find themselves on another craggy hill, but one that spanned a much further distance. In fact, by the time they reached the cliff edge of it, the sun was in the midst of setting. The whole time, as they walked, Beidir picked at her lute’s strings, at the same tempo as if she were performing, but at a lower dynamic. 

“Come along,” Frale said, stepping down a narrow, downward sloping path in the cliff face. “This is the way to the cave. 

At the edge of the cliff, Beidir motioned for Aleskim to go first, but he shook his head. “You first. That way I can catch you if you slip.”

Beidir shrugged. “If you say so.” She followed Frale onto the path, having to shuffle sideways for part of it. She glanced over the edge as she shuffled, seeing the rushing river two hundred feet below. Vertigo took her, but she flattened herself against the stone wall, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening her eyes and continuing to follow Frale. Inside of the cave, she found Frale removing her overcoat and crouching beside a fire pit, beginning the process of building a fire from what wooden tinder and fuel had been stacked in the back. The cave only stretched back about fifteen feet, but Frale found a bedroll already set up in there, and a raw looking longbow and a quiver of arrows leaning against the back wall with a woodcutting axe and the firewood. 

“Nice little setup you’ve got here,” Aleskim said as Beidir stepped out of his way to allow him further into the cave. “Whose bow is that? You struck me as more of a mage type.”

Frale glanced up from her work at Aleskim, stopping with the striking of flint and steel. “My daughter’s. This is the place that she camps when she comes hunting. And no, she does not live with the Forsworn, not anymore.” She nodded, affirming to herself and Aleskim her conviction in her statements. “The Reach is simply where we grew up and it is the land that know, so it is the land that we hunt in when we must hunt. She isn’t here right now, but that should come as little surprise considering the season.” She returned to lighting the fire, and got the tinder piled on top to catch after but three strikes. As Frale stoked the fire to something serviceable, Aleskim pulled Beidir to the side of the cave and leaned in close to speak with her.

“I don’t think she’s telling the truth,” Aleskim whispered.

Beidir nodded and glanced over Aleskim’s shoulder to see Frale out of earshot. At least, probably out of earshot. “Yeah. Did you see the way her mouth was twitching when she talked about her daughter? I’m going to ask her about it.” At his expression, she told him, “Don’t worry. I won’t spill anything.” She stepped away from Aleskim and knelt over by the fire as it grew, removing her overcoat and extending her palms towards the flame. “So, how is your relationship with your daughter, Frale?”

Silence gripped the air as Frale stared into the flame. Beidir realized that she was poking it with the blacker end of her staff. She watched the dancing, orange and red shapes for about half a minute before Frale responded. “It’s a relationship. A bit strained. She’s an adult, now, and doesn’t speak to me all that often, so our relationship is a little strained, as relationships between mothers and daughters tend to get.” She dismissed the topic, saying, “That’s all I’m willing to say on the matter. Now, then, shall we sup?”

“Let’s,” Aleskim said, and took his spot beside Beidir, having already shed his overcoat. 

As they ate their dried meat and fruits, the three of them spoke little, commenting on the weather, or at one point, a gust of wind that managed to find the perfect angle to find the three of them in the cave. The silence didn’t feel terribly awkward, though. The sound of munching mouths was enough to keep it from awkwardness. When they finished their meal, though, the feeling returned. Aleskim and Beidir shared a look, and Frale suggested that they sleep first out of any of them. 

The following morning, Beidir found herself not murdered in her sleep, and so found her trust for Frale growing a little. They continued travelling in much the same way that they had, alternating between the paved road and the game trails and secret roads known only to the Forsworn. Around midday, in the foothills of one of the mountains that formed the western border of Skyrim and the Reach, during one of their offroad jaunts, Beidir found, as they crested a hill, a little fortress with rounded, brass rooftops on the towers, and no mortar, the stones wedged together to form the walls and structure, but even better than Dragon Bridge. In Dragon Bridge, there had been spaces between some of the rocks, and from a distance it appeared cobblestone. Beidir didn’t realize that this was a structure and not a natural formation until they came within a hundred yards of it, and she saw the tiny, almost unnoticeable seams between the stone blocks, and identified the brass rooftops as not trees that had retained their autumnal coloring. 

She stopped, and got Frale and Aleskim to stop as well, saying, “Hang on a moment. Who owns that fortress? It’s a structure unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s an ancient dwarven fortress,” Frale told her, turning around. “The dwarves are long gone, but their machines still remain, so we will not be using the tunnels inside of it to our advantage. This is the only safe road that heads towards Markarth, though; the others near here are watched quite intensely by the Forsworn.”

“If circumstances were different,” Aleskim said, pulling down his balaclava to be better heard, “ I would have liked to explore it. Write a tragic song about the fall of the Dwemer, the dwarves.”

They got moving again, though Beidir still felt a little uneasy passing so close to the ruin. Frale continued talking. “The real tragedy is that of the Falmer. You will know them for being vicious goblins that steal children in the night to feast on them in the dwarven ruins, but centuries ago, the blind creatures were the noble Snow Elves. From what I’ve found, only the scholars of Skyrim and the Forsworn truly remember this. They’re just monsters to the peasants.”

“I’ve read a few stories about the Snow Elves,” Beidir said, a little indignant. “I know what happened to them. It happened centuries ago, so it’s not as though people hadn’t had the time to explore the ruins and found out what happened. Your average peasant doesn’t even know how to read, though, Frale.”

Frale humphed. “I don’t know how to read, either, Beidir.” They’d come within twenty yards of the ruin, the walls looming high over them, just out of the range of their shadow. “The people of the Reach teach in oral histories, not musty old parchments and etchings made illegible by thousands of rubbings. Not that you meant anything by what you said.”

“Of course not. I’ve known plenty of illiterate - shit!” She looked up just as someone wearing raw hides loosed an arrow in her direction from atop the wall. Frale had seen him before he loosed as well, though, and the ward that she generated sent the arrow spinning off into the snow. Beidir found herself with her axe in hand in the next moment as she watched a lightning bolt crack from Frale’s staff to send the man stumbling backwards, screaming in pain. 

“They’re Forsworn,” Frale announced. More people draped in hides came pouring out of the gate in the wall that they’d passed, seven of them, wielding spears and axes, most of them with stone edges, though some of them with rust spotted iron and steel. “Run. Run!” Beidir didn’t hesitate to turn tail, feet kicking up snow all around as she charged away from the Forsworn. She noticed the heavily bundled form of Aleskim accompanying them, Frale peeling out ahead. An arrow sank into the snow at her feet, and she pushed herself to run faster than she ever thought she could in all those furs. The hateful shouts of the Forsworn hounded her as much as the people themselves. She couldn’t notice it beneath her furs, but her knuckles around her bearded handaxe had turned white with effort. 

Beidir didn’t risk a glance over her shoulder, but when her foot caught on a root buried beneath the half foot of snow she was slogging through and she went sprawling, she heard the footsteps just behind her. As she forced herself back to her feet to chase after Aleskim and Frale, the other two now twenty yards away, she registered that she’d dropped her axe. Unthinking, she glanced backwards, just in time to see the fastest of them lower his shoulder and throw himself into her, dropping her back into the snow. She grabbed the dagger in his belt, but he grabbed her wrist as she tried to bring it around and stuffed snow in her eyes. As she tried to blink it out and keep him off of her, he brought down several heavy strikes on her head with something hard, likely his fist, leaving her dazed. The snow crunched beneath her as they struggled.

Still, she swung her fists wildly, having little effect on his padded form, Beidir panting and kicking through the snow to try and get away from him. Then his knee planted painfully on her belly, holding her in place, and after he said a couple of words that she didn’t recognize, she saw a flash of mint green light through the snow caking her eyes, and she felt her breathing slow, the adrenaline fade from her system. Wasn’t Frale one of these people? Didn’t she trust Frale? And besides, if these were really her enemies, Aleskim would never abandon her to them. Not in a millennium.

After she blinked the snow from her eyes and stopped struggling, the pressure on her belly let up, and she no longer felt the urge to vomit. The man who’d been kneeling on her stood up, and she found all seven of the Forsworn standing around her, the one she’d been wrestling with covered with hardening snow all down his front. Suddenly, the situation dawned on her again, and she felt her heart kick up back to where it had been. “Please, please don’t hurt me,” she said, her voice muffled through the balaclava. She pulled it down, smearing a bit of frost on her reddening face with her frozen glove. “I’ll do whatever you want, I have friends, they’ll pay a good ransom, just don’t hurt me. Please.” The eyes of the men, and probably women, from what she’d heard of the Forsworn, revealed nothing. She noticed the fine steel of her axe in one of their hands, and a couple of flint tipped spears levelled at her. 

“Trespasser,” one of the spear wielders hissed, and Beidir registered it as a woman, judging by her voice. “You know what we do to trespassers here?”

All at one, Beidir felt her throat choke up. She squeezed out a sob and returned to silence. One of the men stepped forward, his footsteps crunching in the snow. “We have no use for your money, and we have little more use for your other riches. We need people. We need slaves. You know what we would do to you if I say so,” the man told her, and Beidir felt a tear leak from her eye to freeze on her cheek as she sniffled. “I don’t enjoy it as much as they. So you have one chance, one opportunity, to prove to us what other use as a slave you can provide. What can you do?”

“W-what?”

“What can you do? What are you good at? Speak, quickly.” The man’s voice came off as uncaring, neutral, almost as though he were bored.

“I’m a bard,” she said, though it sounded like one word. “I’m a good singer, and I can play the lute, and the flute, and drums, and I know all about the greatest bards of Skyrim’s history, I do. I’ve read lots. If you want, I could teach you to read. Do figures.” The words fell from her mouth like water, and the lack of a reaction felt like it froze, as water would in that weather. 

“Sing for us,” the leader said, after a moment of shifting feet and eyes amongst the entire group. Beidir took off her pack, sitting up and starting to undo it to grab her lute, but the spears inched forward, and the leader kicked her bag away, shouting, “Sing! Now, filthy Nord!”

Beidir nodded, shivering in the cold and in fear in equal measure. She took a deep breath, and as she let it out, closed her eyes, recalling the first time she’d heard the song that every good Nord bard knows. It’d been winter, and father was lighting the hearth fire while Beidir huddled against her mother for warmth. “Our hero, our hero claims a warrior’s heart/I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes…”


End file.
